Transcend
by MdmeGrngerMlfy
Summary: tran·scend tran(t)ˈsend/ verb be or go beyond the range or limits of (something abstract, typically a conceptual field or division). "this was an issue transcending party politics" synonyms: go beyond, rise above, cut across "an issue that transcended party politics"
1. Prologue

**I do not own any characters featured in this story. This is a short preview! Enjoy!**

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"I think we should just do it."

"Of course you do Ron, you never think before you act!"

"Oh well excuse me. Didn't realize you were Mr. Level-Headed. 'Spose it's been me then, running along all half cocked chasing you-know-who all this time."

It's hot. Her tongue feels like a piece of sandpaper resting in the dry cave of her mouth. Her eyelids must weigh a thousand pounds each. Or maybe they've been spelled shut. When she opens her mouth to speak up, she feels little cracks spread across her lips. They would probably sting, if there were any moisture in her mouth to prickle them. She tries to speak, but no one hears her.

Trying to sit up takes monumental effort. She doesn't know how long she's been asleep, or what's transpired or where she even is really. She can remember coming to the safe house, tired to the core, and then...

Nothing.

Finally she is able to pry her eyes open. This makes her so tired she almost closes them again. Everything is blurry, and hazy.

"Harry." Even to her, her voice is pathetic, a brittle leaf crisping along in the wind. She tries again, louder. "Ron."

Still nothing. She can hear the argument continuing in the other room, but it's muffled by the sound of water rushing in her ears. Obviously she won't get their attention from here. Getting up seems an impossible feat. But she can do it. She's the brightest witch of her age, best in class, Hermione Perfection Jean Granger.

Every movement feels monumental, the coverlet weighs a ton, and her legs are like jelly. Her eyes have adjusted, but everything has a pearly sheen, like she's watching a memory in a pensieve.

She's in "her" room at Grimmauld place. Same frothy curtains and covers, walls charmed to a sunny yellow to remind her of home. She almost makes it to the door when she sees her and lets out a scream, the first real sound she's been able to make.

She's a ghost, standing in the corner, the most pathetic creature Hermione has ever seen. All lines and edges, no softness to her at all. Her skin is haggard and yellowish, stretched taut over bird like bones that jut out painfully. Her clothing is muggle, which seems strange. The tank top hangs off her, her hip bones like knives, pajama pants covering what are clearly twig-like legs. Cheek bones like shards of glass, and eyes that are disturbingly large and hollow. There's nothing in them. They're dead.

She screams again, as she realizes this girl is _her_ _._

Harry and Ron burst through the door, finally able to hear her. She turns around sharply, but it makes her dizzy and she sinks to the floor.

"What's wrong with me?" she is able to rasp painfully, needles prickling her lungs.

Harry is right beside her, trying to be gentle with her. Ron keeps his distance.

"Mione, mione. You're alright." Harry mumbles into her lank hair. It's so greasy it could give Snape a run for his money. More of a matted mess than usual.

"Look Mione, everything's about to get better. You're going to get better!" Ron cries fiercely.

"Ron!"

But it's too late.

"What do you mean?" she asks, looking between them. Ron's eyes are brilliant blue, but there's something hard, almost unforgiving in them. However, it's Harry's that scare her. They shine a little too bright, a little too wet.

"Hermione..." He grasps her right hand, gently, running his fingers over a the ring she is wearing. She feels like she is seeing it for the first time. It's pretty. Plain, but pretty. Simple silver band, an emerald flanked by tiny diamonds. He turns her hand over, and puts something in her palm.

Another ring. Clearly a man's. A thick gold band ornate in design, set with rubies. It feels cold, cold, cold. It feels wrong. She turns it over in tiny, brittle little fingers. She catches a glimpse of an inscription.

 _Don't do anything stupid._

She sucks in a mouthful of air, hands trembling, eyes glazing over, and removes her own band.

 _I won't._

She can hear the boys calling her name, sees Harry pitch forward to catch her. But it's too late.

She is as cold and unfeeling as the rings themselves.

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	2. Chapter One

**I struggle greatly with writing POVs, so there may be errors. Feel free to make suggestions. This chapter and the last are in different POVs, but I believe I have settled on this one. When I have time I will go back and edit the last.**

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Time seems to be crawling by. It seemed like she and Neville had been lying in this ditch for hours upon hours. Suddenly, Neville's head snapped up. She tuned herself into their surroundings, straining to hear something, anything.

It was deadly quiet all around them. The sounds of the forest were gone, even the fire in distance had ceased its sinister cackling. Definitely a spelled silence.

Neville turned to her, checking her reaction, and she nodded. The last of the battling had been done in this area for nearly an hour now. Order members always waited at least this long, looking for survivors, waiting for a second attack, anything really.

Hermione was always the last to leave a battlefield. Always.

No one besides Harry and Ron really knew what it was she was looking for. Lupin had an idea, maybe, now that he'd taken control of the Order. But it was typically her, in her own little world.

They began to inch their way out of the ditch, wands at the ready, although Hermione was now well-versed in wandless magic. She'd had months to sit around and recover, after all. Everything stayed dead silent around them. She could feel and see twigs snapping beneath her heavy boots, but nothing reached her ears but the rushing of her own blood.

Neville had drawn up suddenly behind a tree, and she followed suit across from him. She wasn't sure what he was picking up on that she wasn't, but it was becoming irritating. She knew he didn't have better vision, nor a spell-defying sense of hearing, so _what was he looking at?_ She glanced around them in that moment, taking in their changed environment.

The canopy of leaves above them isn't quite thick enough to mask the night sky. The smoke and spell residue from the evening has begun to melt into it, and far, far ahead, untouched by err muggle and wizard alike, the stars sparkled.

Occasionally, in between battles, and healing and worrying where the next meal would come from, or destroying the next horcrux, she got these moments. They all did, really. Could have beens, almost weres, future possibilities, she supposed. _'In the middle of this turmoil, this fight for people, my people, these stars are shining. They are the same stars I looked at my first night at Hogwarts. They are the same stars my parents are seeing, somewhere in Australia. These are the last stars our friends and enemies alike may ever see. He could be looking at these stars, right now, right this second, looking at them and thinking of me, the way I'm looking at them and thinking of him.'_ her thought was somber.

' _Good night Hermione, get it together. That was cheesy and sentimental and awful.'_ she scolded herself, not given to rest on the raw emotional side of herself, given current situations.

Suddenly, the forest seemed to come alive around her. She whipped her head around, the last thing she needed was Neville reporting back to Lupin that she had been mentally MIA in the field. Again.

He wasn't there.

She cursed quietly, craning around her tree. She doesn't see him anywhere. Hoping against hope that during her reverie he's just wandered a few feet away she mumbles a quick disillusionment charm, moving from her post as silently as possible.

She can't see him. She can't hear him. He doesn't have Harry's invisibility cloak. Neville's disillusionment charms are nowhere near the level of hers. He's just gone far, that's all. She refused to believe anything otherwise. There simply wasn't a Death Eater around good enough to get to Neville without her noticing. There just _wasn't._

Panicking had just become a viable option when a voice sounded behind her.

"You're not going to find him right now, Hermione. He's ah, busy."It's a soft, sweet voice. She recognized it, of course.

Spinning on her heel brought her face to face with a grotesque, silver mask. She pointed her wand directly at the speaker's throat, thought he made no move to do the same. It mattered very little. He was just as skilled in wandless magic as she, if not more so.

"Take it off." she barked at him.

With a curl of dark smoke, the mask disappeared and dark curls tumbled onto a forehead damp with sweat. Even though from the second she heard the voice she knew it wasn't _him_ she can't help but be disappointed.

"What do you want, Theo?" she asked tiredly, swiping her wandless hand over her face in aggravation. She didn't have time for the mind and word games that always appeared with the handsome dark wizard. She glanced around edgily. It would be very unfortunate to be caught conversing with a Death Eater, especially one as notorious and hunted as Theodore Nott.

"An update, of course. I wanted to know if you'd learned anything knew of our friend." His glittering eyes never wavered from her face, though her wand was practically digging into his golden throat.

"Of course not. You think I would be here if I knew where he was? If I even thought there was a chance of finding him?"

He quirked a dark brow.

"You would do that? Abandon everything in search of one as...lost as him?" he emphasized the word lost, as if she needed reminding it had double meaning.

She shifted her stance slightly, but didn't say anything. She was never certain how Theo found out, but it seemed like he had always known. Maybe before they had even known themselves

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 _The library was very quiet, just as she liked it. Even better, her favorite spot was open. It seemed as though even the weather had conspired to make this Sunday afternoon the perfect time to catch up on her reading, the sky a chilly grey, overcast enough for the pretty new jumper her parents had sent her but not enough to keep her in her warm room. Other girls were cuddled with cocoa and the opposite sex. She preferred her company leather bound and slightly dusty._

 _Madame Pince gave her a nod as she passed, and a couple of students greeted her absently. Nothing was quite the same this year. It was already late November, but it seemed without the Headmaster the term had yet to settle. Of course the professors tried, but there wasn't much to be done for it. Fewer students had returned than expected, and it seemed even when every student was in the corridor, the school echoed its emptiness back to them._

 _She had been appointed Head Girl, of course. Everyone was surprised when Harry was passed up for Head Boy though. Theodore Nott had been chosen. She wasn't tremendously surprised, he had top marks. Besides herself, of course._

 _She had just really gotten invested in the book she had pulled, more research on horcruxes, when there was a thud at the other end of the table._

 _"Good afternoon, Hermione." Came the soft, polite greeting._

 _Theodore Nott was soft spoken boy. Many girls didn't pay him mind due to that fact, but Hermione found him quite dashing, really. Dark, curling hair erring just this side of unruly, tanned skin that suggested Grecian heritage and those inquisitive, dark blue eyes. Couple with a winning smile and soft nature, it was easy to find herself charmed by her fellow Head. She often found herself wondering what it was that made him Slytherin material._

 _"Hello, Theodore. To what do I owe this pleasure?" She asked politely, turning the spine of her book down. Charming or no, there would be no leak of information on her part, thank you._

 _"Just Theo, please. We've a long year to go before us, for such formalities. Though I do apologize for interrupting your studies." He smiled again, shy and confident at the same time._

 _"Theo, then. Is something wrong?"_

 _"Wrong? Of course not." He said with a slight laugh. "Are you always so serious? No, I just came to ah, what's the muggle phrase? Pickle your brains? No that's not right..."_

 _He trailed off, and she gave him a small half smile._

 _"Pick my brain. You wanted to see what I know? About what?" He had piqued her interest, the insatiable curiosity in her swimming to the surface._

 _" I wanted to know what you know of binding spells."_

 _She frowned._

 _"Well, first to mind of course would be Unbreakable Vows. Then old marriage bonds, the naturally occurring bonds between magical creatures, such as unicorns or Veela, contracts, this list goes on really. However most bonding spells have been outlawed for quite some time. The line between being lovingly bound and forced into bondage is easily blurred, you know."_

 _"Don't I know it."_

 _He stared at her, eyes ticking across her face, and it felt suddenly very warm in her little alcove._

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"Theo, you know I haven't the time or patience for this. Now unless _you've_ heard something new, you need to go." She was finished with this conversation. She needed to find Neville and get back to HQ before someone came looking for them, as they were bound to do, and soon.

"Longbottom is a bit busy at the moment, as I mentioned before. Sure you don't care to hang around a bit? Catch up maybe?" he asked,stepping forward, her wand pushing into his throat. "Perhaps we can discuss binding spells?"

"How dare you? Don't mistake me Theodore. Just because I've tolerated your presence to this point does _not_ mean I am forgiving you your grievous error in joining Voldemort. Leave. Now. And if you know what's good for you, you won't seek me out again. I don't need the kind of help you offer. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice-"

"Better a witty fool than foolish wit." he interrupted, his silver mask appearing and distorting his voice.

He backed away from her slowly, before turning to depart. He spoke to her without looking back at her, his the edges of his cloak crawling along the forest floor, made of black mist.

"This won't be the last we see of each other, little lion. The Dark Lord has plans for you yet."

Before she could get in a single syllable he was gone, and she was alone again. She stood there for a few moments, contemplating all that had happened. Really it seemed like _nothing_ had happened. Besides his vague, but most likely empty threat, he hadn't said anything at all. Certainly not anything helpful, which was typical of him.

There was a crash behind her, and she whipped around, wand ready.

"Hermione, I need your help. Please! It's Luna! She's back!"

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